


fool for you and the things you do

by lyuyu



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Tumblr Prompts, also established relationship but not a lot heh, also strongly idiots in love, and everything in between, some set in LT universe, sort of pining best friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29263128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyuyu/pseuds/lyuyu
Summary: collection of tumblr prompt fills, done for gwen and adam
Relationships: Female Detective/Adam du Mortain
Kudos: 5





	1. touch with a promise

He’s angry, mouth five seconds away from foaming with his ranting, Gwen thinks, she can’t remember when was the last time she’d gotten an earful from the commander quite like this.

She understands why, though; or maybe not so much _understands_ as _knows_ why, the reason the same one that has lingered between the two of them for who knows how many months by now, yet never asked aloud.

(Though it may be a high time - maybe then he could _talk_ rather than cover his personal concern as work-related berating.)

“Don’t,” he hisses between gritted teeth, “ _ever_ do that again, Detective.”

(She’d gotten a little reckless. Threw herself in front of a pack of menacing werewolves and so on, little this and that. No biggie. What had been the breaking point, apparently, was that she’d done it in order to protect _him_.)

Adam never was good at being a grateful damsel once saved from distress. Especially when it’s her playing the knight in shining armor, but she doesn’t make the mistake of even entertaining the thought it’d have something to do with a bruised ego. She knows, god, she _knows_ it goes so much deeper than that; if only his pig-headed self would acknowledge it too, if not for hers, but his own sake too.

(She hadn’t even gotten _that_ hurt. Broke her arm, sure, but it’ll heal.)

She listens patiently. Half of the things he says hardly even reach her hearing at this point anymore, so she lets her gaze rest on his features, though tense and harsh from his frustration they may be, but he still looks gorgeous with that tiny bit of fire flaming in his eyes.

She always thought he could use more _spark_ to him. Although it seems impossible, after a while, he runs out of things to yell and complain about. Gwen is deep in her own thoughts, head full of him; it’s funny how it’s always these situations where the attraction comes to play the strongest.

A small smile rises on her lips. The crease of Adam’s brows reaches a new depth. “ _Why_ are you smiling?”

“Are you finished?” she asks. “Can I say something now?”

He averts his eyes from her and heaves a sigh, one of the deepest ones she’s heard from him. She almost expects him to not deign an answer, but he does, though it’s only a simple, grumbled, “Yes.”

She nods, taking a step forward and lifting a hand to rest on his arm. It relieves the frown he wears a little, or that’s what she has herself believe.

“You worry too much.” Her hand then continues up to his bicep, shoulder, to his cheek. “Look at me. It’s just a broken arm. I’m _fine_.”

His gaze softens at that, and it’s as if he even leans into her reassuring touch for a second; but it’s over too soon to tell, her hand dropping back to her side as Adam creates distance between them once more, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Worrying about you,” he says, no fight or scold in his voice anymore, “is part of my job, Gwen.”

He gives her one more wary glance; then he shakes his head, turns away, and goes.


	2. happy kiss

“Should we just go for it?” Gwen asks, rolling around to her other side to face Adam. “It’s been like, what, ten years? And we got kids and all, and I’m not certainly getting any younger.”

Adam wraps his arm around her waist, tugging her closer. “I don’t see any reason why not.”

They stare at each other for a moment, unblinking, until Gwen lets out a slow exhale.

“Maybe we should do it then,” she whispers. “I’m not taking your last name, though.”

He chuckles, the sound low and vibrating. “I can live with that.”

She lifts her hand to brush her fingertips against his cheek, tracing the sharp lines of his features. Adam’s eyes fall shut under the light touch.

“Just one thing,” Gwen murmurs.

“Yes?”

She cranes to catch him in a kiss, grinning against his lips. “You can’t wear cargo trousers to our wedding.”

Adam sighs, but a smile climbs on him too as she kisses him again.


	3. nuzzle kiss

She laughs, the sound of it luminous, it reverberates from the walls of his bedroom.

Adam has got her pinned against the door, lips hovering over her pulse point, and Gwen can’t stop laughing. The tip of his nose, and his breath, tickles, the light brushes of his mouth against her neck even more so—his soft, slow kisses send jolts (sparks, shocks,) through her whole body and she tilts her head to the right, capturing his in between her cheek and shoulder.

“ _Adam,_ ” his name not a beg for more, nor a plea to stop—just happy.


	4. accidentally knocking your head into someone’s chin

As the clock closes in on 8PM, Gwen shuffles around her office packing up. Her woolen socks give her a fun glide about, something Adam would most definitely frown upon was he to see her now, but then again, he hardly ever has much appreciation for anything she finds even remotely entertaining.

Still, since getting together he’s complained much less, which she appreciates, though he keeps nagging about her sometimes leaving her sneakers untied, especially if she was driving instead of walking. She does it this time too, quickly shoving her shoes on as she finishes up and does not bother to tie the laces, they dangle about merrily as she walks out of the station.

Adam is already waiting for her outside, standing near her car, ever the prompt man, and Gwen doesn’t miss the unimpressed quirk of his brow as he glances down at her shoes. She ignores the look, having little care to spare right now.

“Hey, handsome,” she calls, a smile instantly climbing on her lips. “How was your—”

Just as she’s about to reach him, she steps on and trips over one of the cursed shoelaces (and in that same second, she knew she’d come to regret the decision to leave them untied—or rather, proving Adam _right_.)

Adam lunges forward to catch her, only for her forehead to smack hard and loud against his chin when he does. She almost topples over again from the collision, taking a stumbling step back as her hands whip to hold her forehead.

“ _Shit_ —ow…” she whines, expression melting into a mix of a frown and a pout.

It quickly changes into a confused one though, her hands falling away as a sound she’s never heard quite this clearly before escapes Adam—one he tries to desperately cover up with a cough, just as he tries to hide his expression too as he rubs a hand over his chin.

“Did you just…” Gwen’s brows shoot up in realization. “Did you just _laugh?_ ”

Adam coughs again, fingertips subtly pressing into his cheeks to force down the wide smile he wears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Are you kidding me— _this_ is what’s funny to you? Seriously?” she barks, though seeing him so uncharacteristically amused makes it difficult to maintain an upset tone. “You know, at least when we weren’t dating, you used to be concerned about my well-being rather than laugh about my injuries.”

“I’ve come to find that the two can co-exist,” he reasons with a soft chuckle, taking a step forward. A gentle smile still plays at the corners of his mouth as he reaches to brush the back of his fingers against her cheek. “Were you badly hurt?”

He then hooks a finger under her chin and tilts her face up, eyes going quickly over her features in an inspection. Gwen sighs, pouting again. “Physically no, but my ego might have taken a bruise. I can’t believe you laughed at my misfortune.”

Adam rolls his eyes. “I believe it was both of ours. It was _my_ chin you crashed against, after all.”

“Right.” She frowns a bit, as though only remembering it now. “Are you alright?”

“I have been through worse,” Adam smiles. The sight of it has her melting into a puddle; it’s something she doubts she’ll ever get tired of seeing. After a short, silent moment, he offers his arm to her. “Shall we head home then?”

Gwen hooks her arm around his. “Yes, please. I can already feel a headache coming.” She lifts her other hand to rub at her forehead again, brows pinching together. “Feels like I’d smashed my head into a fucking brick wall.”

“Perhaps this will finally teach you to keep your shoes tied,” Adam hums, a faint grin lifting his lips again. “It _is_ something someone your age should know how to do, I reckon.”

Gwen just groans. “Oh, shut up, will you.”


	5. you confessed your feelings and we’re about to kiss but we get interrupted

“Tell me something,” she whispers.

“Hm?”

There is no firelight yet the living room is painted warm and orange, dancing on the brink of summer dawn, and Gwen basks in the golden hue of sunrise that floods inside from the windows. It is too early but not early enough, late but not late enough, for them to go to sleep yet.

And here he is, in his arms the woman he loves, never mind that she doesn’t know it, (or does she? She must,) they have tiptoed around the words begging to escape them for so long now, it hardly is a kept secret anymore.

“How do I get an answer to a question I shouldn’t ask?”

The question is, the same it has been for days, weeks, _months_ for now, yet remained unasked and thus unanswered, patiently waiting for the right time and right place, but it never has seemed to come; at least, not until now. Adam suddenly finds himself holding a breath he doesn’t even need.

Her heartbeat thrums and flutters against his skin, like wingstrokes of a hummingbird, rapid-fire and light; it rings in his ears too, a tune much lovelier than the jazz they’re listening to, and he’s lost, so lost in the adoration of her gaze, one he’s not deserving of.

(She is not his; and he remembers that only when her eyes remind him of Nate’s. Deep brown and kind; and envy, such an ugly feeling, makes his the deepest green they have ever been.)

Maybe it has to do with 4AM madness and a sky deceitfully romance-colored, but in this moment there’s nothing else left of him but a fragile heart and a longing for _more_. She’s made him greedy for something he hasn’t spared a thought at for almost a millennium; and now that he’s had a taste, it has become a high he can’t stop chasing after.

It is a feeling that terrifies him to no end.

Gwen tilts her head back just so her nose touches his, so close now that their breaths become mixed and he can feel her eyelashes tickle his cheeks. He could count her freckles from here, all of them; but he’s drowned in her eyes, so deeply, he can’t possibly tear himself away from them now.

And he wonders so, how wrong (how _right?_ ) would it feel, to kiss her now as the rest of the world still sleeps, none the wiser when the morning should come?

“I think,” he says slowly, voice hoarse, “that if you know you shouldn’t ask, then you already might know the answer.”

The answer is, that she makes him want to love her in Latin, in something everlasting and haunting, centuries old and reserved only for the divine.

She leans her forehead against his, and every fiber in his body aches to be hers, only dreaming of how it would feel (feel, _feel_ , the word is stuck on a loop in his head) to give himself to her wholly, every broken piece and all the rough, prickly edges of them.

Could she ever love something so flawed?

Warmth has overtaken them, but not consumed, not ran through them and then vanished. It is a solace, that has settled somewhere deep inside and _stayed_.

(A bittersweet belonging, he thinks; as though they have come home.)

He never should’ve let it go this far, but she reaches up, fingertips pressing gently against his cheek, and the tenderness of her touch makes him forget all else.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, “I guess I do.”

Her lips brush against his in not-a-kiss, for only a split second; but it’s enough to make his whole reality crumble down in utter destruction.

Footsteps echo from the hallway (and then, he remembers again. Deep brown eyes and endless kindness. Gwen is not his,) and Adam rips himself away from her with the greatest effort.

She blinks slowly, once, twice, as though coming out from a trance.

“Not like this,” is all he says, yet can’t stop himself for reaching out for her once more—but he snaps his hand back before touching her, because god knows there is only so much self-restraint he has left anymore, and who knows what would happen if he let himself _feel?_

“You’re right,” Gwen says, voice strained. “I’m sorry.”

When she makes to leave, he doesn’t try to stop her. The song playing in the background draws to an end just as she disappears behind the door.

(And suddenly, the warmth is gone, and the room is cold and blue.)


	6. i called you at 2am because i need you

The Trapper’s bounty has kept her up more than she’d like.

Usually, she had no trouble brushing aside feelings such as fear or uncertainty—but something about this gnawed at her mind, not leaving her alone, and the more she dwells on it, the more those feelings seem to take over.

Maybe it was knowing how ruthless they were, remembering how they’d treated Sanja (even though she luckily was rescued—but Gwen isn’t a fool.) There is a high chance, that should they get their hands on her, she wouldn’t be facing as lucky an ending as the fortune teller had, and maybe that is why she’s left so restless.

(Or, maybe it hasn’t been the bounty that has kept her awake at all. Maybe it’s something else completely, but at least these emotions are easiest to pin on it.)

She sits at her kitchen table, an open bottle of wine and a glass half-full in front of her. She’d hoped a little liquid relief would help her to sleep, but now she’s just tipsy and exhausted on top of anxious, and that never is a good combination, she knows, but still brings the glass up to her lips again.

Summer was supposed to be a beautiful time, but if anything, so far it’s had a really shitty start for sure.

Her phone rests between the glass and the bottle. Her fingers brush over the screen every now and then, but always hesitate and then pull away. She just wants to talk to someone, anyone, yet there’s only one person who crosses her mind the most.

 _I wonder if he’s awake._ Would he even answer if he was? Gwen frowns at the thought, turning her gaze to the window. _He’d probably just tell me to call Nate instead_.

Yet regardless of that thought, she finds herself grabbing the phone, and before she can give in to the growing second thoughts, she’s already dialed.

(More wine, more.)

She empties her glass and pours another one as she listens to the steady ringback. God, either he takes fucking forever to answer, or then he’s ignoring her. The nerves start to take over, and she already debates hanging up—

But then, he picks up. Her shoulders sag in what is some kind of unexplainable relief, though the feeling is mixed with tension, seeing as now she actually has to _talk_ to him—

 _“Detective?”_ At least Adam sounds more surprised than annoyed, with a tiny tinge of worry. “ _Is everything alright?”_

“Oh, hey—yeah,” she stumbles over the words, rubbing her face with her hand. “I, uh—everything’s fine, yeah. I just…”

What’s she going to tell him? That she just wanted to talk, in the middle of the night? That she can’t sleep and the only person she really could think to call was him?

(And over Nate, no less? The very person she was dating? His best friend?)

“…I don’t know why I called,” she says quietly. He doesn’t answer, but she can imagine the frown pinned on his face even though she can’t see it. “I was just feeling… restless, I guess, and I didn’t want to bother Nate…”

 _“So you decided to bother me instead?”_ he asks with a light tone. Gwen chuckles at the quip.

“Well, I always did like irking you,” she hums.

_“Yes, you did.”_

He sounds like there might be a small smile on him too; the thought of it has a warmth spreading wide in her chest. Maybe this wasn’t the worst idea after all. (It was. He’s the last person she should be calling without reason. In the middle of the night. With half a bottle of wine gone.)

 _“What are you doing awake at this hour?”_ Adam asks. _“You should be resting.”_

She’s suddenly unsure how to answer the question, even though at least part the reason had been somewhat clear only a moment ago. “I don’t know. I’ve just been… up, thinking about things.”

_“Such as?”_

“The bounty. Work,” she mumbles. There’s a small stretched silence before she continues.

(You. Me.)

“Nate…” she admits.

Adam clears his throat. _“…I see.”_

(And this hell of a mess we’ve found ourselves in.)

He doesn’t pry further, seemingly letting her decide whether she wants to continue the topic or not—but she can’t bring herself to say anything more, letting the deafening quiet speak for her.

(Maybe he realizes the meaning of it, too.)

Gwen brushes her hair over one shoulder, twirling some of it around her fingers. A small lump has, for whatever reason, started to form in her throat, forcing her voice to come out strained when she finally speaks.

“I don’t want to hurt him, Adam.”

(She wonders, if saying it is a mistake.)

 _“You won’t,”_ he says, resolute.

“How can you know that?”

(He sounds so sure, yet she fears it’s an inevitability. One way or another.)

She hears him take in a short breath. _“Because I won’t let you.”_

Now, it’s her who answers, “…I see.”

The call goes so quiet she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d hung up—but he hasn’t, she can hear another breath, almost a ragged one though still subtle; her brows furrow at the sound of it.

“Adam,” she whispers.

 _“Don’t,”_ he says, pleads, the way he says the word familiar from the so many times it has been spoken before. _“Please.”_

Wine. More wine, she washes down the bittersweet tension of her throat with it. Long seconds pass without a word.

(Maybe there are none left to be said.)

“I should go. I’m sorry for…” she whispers, “for bothering you. Goodnight.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer.


	7. touch to say good morning

The Warehouse’s kitchen has become a third home for her.

Gwen has busied herself making breakfast, the time barely being 6AM; she still has a good hour and a half before she has to leave, and many would choose to spend that time sleeping, but she’s found herself to relax better here than under the covers of her bed.

The mellow scent of tea lingers in the air, along with the one of pancakes she’s making, a sweet tooth as she’s always been; it’s a remnant habit of past, something familiar and cosy, and having them always is something that lifts her spirits, even when it’s such an early morning and it’s still grey and dark outside.

With an upbeat whistle, she sets herself a plate on the counter. If Rebecca was to see the tower of pancakes soon occupying it, she’d be in for a very loving, yet strict scolding for it. The very thought makes her chuckle to herself.

“Rather chipper, given the hour,” she hears a deep voice suddenly coming from behind her. Her heart skipping a beat, Gwen whirls around, clutching to her chest.

“Holy hell, Adam,” she lets out a sharp breath. “You damn near gave me a heart attack.”

He doesn’t answer right away, eyes going to the plate behind her. His brow arches in a manner she knows is everything but appreciative.

“You’re having sweets first thing in the morning?” he frowns, not bothering to hide the judgment in his voice. As he walks further inside the room, Gwen notices the half-full wine glass in his hand.

“Rather bold, coming from someone drinking at 6AM,” she quips, a small smirk tugging her lips. Adam merely scoffs.

“It has no effect on me.”

“Ah, yes, yet another perk of immortality. Makes drinking on the job that much easier, doesn’t it?”

He spares a short, soft chuckle at that, one that seems to not only surprise her, but himself too. “That is one way to look at it, I suppose.”

He comes to stop right next to her, still eyeing the stack of pancakes doubtfully. Gwen snickers under her breath at the sight.

“Wanna taste?” she asks, smiling. Adam shrugs, but doesn’t decline; she cuts a small piece with a fork and lifts it up to his mouth. Adam looks down at her with a disapproving frown, arms coming to cross over his chest.

“You don’t need to feed me,” he complains, but Gwen only pokes the fork closer. He takes the bite with an excessive roll of his eyes, nose crinkling in obvious displeasure almost immediately after he does.

Gwen pouts. “Too sweet?”

“For me, yes,” he nods, washing the bite down with whatever wine remains in his glass. “But I have no doubt they’re just fine for… your tastes.”

“You mean _human_ tastes?” she grins, hand coming to rest on his arm and giving it a quick squeeze; Adam’s eyes are drawn to where they touch, a small frown forming once more on his face. “Either way, thanks. And good morning too, I guess.”

“Right,” he says quietly. “Good morning.”

“Do you know if Nate’s up?” she asks. Adam shakes off the lingering tingle her touch has left in its wake.

“I believe so, yes,” he answers, “though I doubt he’d be upset even if you were to wake him. He’d most likely be happy to see you before you take your leave.”

“You think so?”

“I would be,” the words slip out before Adam can stop them, rushing to correct himself, “if I were him, I mean.”

Gwen gives him a thoughtful look. It isn’t exactly the first time the usually stoic leader fumbles over his words like that. “Yeah. Right.”

There comes a short silence, only interrupted when Adam clears his throat in a rather awkward manner. “I think you’ll find him in his room. If not, I’d try the library.”

“Yeah, okay.” Gwen takes the plate and her tea, hesitating for a beat. “Do you want to come with?”

Adam shakes his head. She tries give him a smile as she heads out, but it falls away as soon as she turns her back to him.

 _What a weird, weird moment_ , she thinks.


	8. touch on a bruise

“Bedrest for today,” Dr. Tuft had ordered (knowing full well he wouldn’t listen, not when the damage was not life-threatening).

 _It’ll take only half a day for it to heal_ , he’d told her. _It’s nothing serious,_ and surely enough, Gwen catches Adam in the training room 20 minutes after him seeing the medic.

His back faces the door but the bruise is spectacular, bright and visible even from all the way here, it covers most of his side and reaches around to his back a bit too.

“Is this your idea of resting?” she calls as she moves to close the distance. Adam delivers a lazy punch to one of the dummies, then turning to her with a sigh.

“I told you—” he starts, but Gwen raises a hand.

“Half a day,” she chuckles, though it comes out strained, her eyes drawn back down to the bruise. “I know.”

Arguing with him about this is little to no use, that much she’s learned, yet even then she finds herself wanting to, flashes of worry tugging at her heartstrings. Seeing Adam hurt isn’t exactly an unusual occurrence at this point, but knowing it does nothing to ease the concern.

(To say that he’d gotten mauled would be a gross understatement, yet he’d insisted it’s _nothing._ )

From this close, it looks even worse. A stain on perfection, vivid hues of purple and blue and yellow, ruining the pale cream of his skin. A cracked rib or two rest underneath, Gwen tries to push the thought away, _only half a day_ , and he’d be as good as new.

“Does it hurt?” she asks quietly. Her hand reaches out for him cautiously, fingertips brushing against his side in one slow, featherlight motion, and it is as though his whole body stutters and sighs under the gentle touch.

When her hand falls away, Adam’s fingers flex on his side, as if resisting to catch it with his own—

“Yes.” The word comes out as a weak breath.

When she looks up at him—sees the frown that sits on his face as he gazes down at her—she’s not sure if they’re talking about the same thing at all.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @lyuyu / @hartfeld :)


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